


that was the first day

by cinderlily



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's for the prompt: ‘every wednesday at the same damn time you’re at the same cereal aisle getting the same cereal brand and i’ve been trying to make a move on you for ages’ au</p>
            </blockquote>





	that was the first day

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH johnnybabechuk @ tumblr for the quick and awesome beta. <3 
> 
> (Any other mistakes are so very much mine.)

It isn’t stalking, okay? Because stalking has a whole lot of words like “intent” and “ritualistic” connected to it and that is so far off Patrick’s radar it’s laughable. It’s just …. Well. _Observing_. He has Stats from 3-4:30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Thursdays is thirsty Thursday, so Tuesday is the best time for him to go to the grocery story. Depending on if he gets the right train he gets to the grocery store at about 4:45 and then he has a routine.

His dietician (don’t laugh, he had a freaking hockey scholarship to keep up) had said to walk around the outside first, the freshest foods were the best. He’d fill his cart with whole milk, eggs, ground beef, veggies and fruit. Then, and only then, he would allow himself a walk down his favorite aisle.

Without fail, there he was. Cereal dude. The guy was, okay, fucking gorgeous. He was tall and had an ass that had his hands going clammy. He was always there. Every Tuesday night, no matter how long or short his trip around the outside had gone. It was like the boxes mesmerized him.

Patrick was pretty indecisive, he liked to change it up. When he was growing up cereal was a point of contention in his house. Him being in hockey cost the family a lot of money, and add in the fact that they had to get a consensus between four siblings (three of which beat up on him—not that he would admit that)… He had subsisted on off brand cheerios with the occasional fruity pebbles. The sheer plethora of choices was like his personal weekly Christmas.

Not Cereal Guy. Cereal Guy would stand there, basket under his arm and stare at the wall for a good while and, without fail, grab the stupid box of Wheatabix, like the lamest choice ever. It boggled Patrick that he even felt the need to stand there when he, Patrick, the check out guy, hell, _anyone_ could save him the time and obvious effort by just putting the same box in his stupid hand basket.

 _Your face is going to set like that_.

_Afraid they changed the recipe?_

_Dude, are you trying to get your arms to work, I can just grab the right box_

He’d thought of maybe a dozen opening lines, but when he had said any of them to his sisters they looked at him like he grew a third eye.

“You have zero game,” Erica lamented.

“How am I even RELATED to you?” Jessica rolled her eyes.

“You could try being … nice.” Jaqs would try, ever the nice one.

It really didn’t end up meaning anything as each week he’d turn the corner and see the guy, his remarkable ass and his furrowed brow, and his mouth would go completely dry. He’d stare at the boxes, maybe three or four feet away from the guy and look up and down the boxes. (He got to buy them in _boxes_ , that wasn’t growing old.)

Frosted Flakes? Mini Wheats? Fruit Loops? Hell he could even buy the little taster packs if he wanted. It was glorious. Maybe he’d get Honey Nut Cheerios and put strawberries in it. His dietician would like that. Kind of. (Well, outside of the whole, “you need to bulk up, eggs and toast and a protein shake, Kane” talk.)

“I’m Jonathan,” came from beside him and he almost literally jumped but caught himself before he could be embarrassed. Cereal guy—Jonathan, was looking at him with this weird … almost smile thing on his face and putting a hand out.

“Patrick,” he offered his hand back. Then in the lull, “Fancy meeting you here.”

If he wasn’t mistaken the tips of Jonathan’s ears ended up just a tint of pink and that was kind of fucking adorable. “Like six weeks running.”

“Seven.”

Oh god, no. That was creepy. Knowing the exact amount of times he saw the guy was creepy? What the hell Patrick?

“I thought rounding would make me sound like less of a weirdo,” Jonathan laughed.

Patrick tried to shrug it off. “I guess I’ve got the market cornered on weird, dude.”

“I stand here for like five minutes a week to see if you are coming or not,” Jonathan blurted out, and it was Patrick’s turn for a surprised laugh.

“SERIOUSLY?”

Jonathan rubbed his bright red neck. “I’m not great with the whole introducing myself thing.”

“Well, we’re on the same page there. I’ve been thinking about a way to point out you seem to debate over the same stupid thing each week for about a month now.”

“Want to go out to eat? I know this place that has pretty great pizza.”

Patrick looked down at his cart and Jonathan seemed to read his mind. “We can meet there in an hour?”

Jonathan gave him the address, along with his cell phone number and Patrick basically booked it out of the grocery store. He forgot the stupid cereal.

*

Which is how, six weeks later, Patrick ended up with Wheatabix in his cabinet, a fact he only complained about every once in awhile. When they go grocery shopping.


End file.
